Reflection
by Crystal7
Summary: Helen of Troy, reflects on her life, her husband, and the man she truly loves. Takes place during the middle of the Trojan War.


Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author's Note: Inspired by, but NOT based on the USA mini-series "Helen of Troy." Reviews appreciated.

- Reflection -

Helen sat by the window, looking out into the night sky. She could see the smoke curling up outside the city walls of Troy. The battle still raged on, nearly ten years, just as Cassandra had predicted.

Cassandra was now buried deep within the dungeons where no one could hear her. Helen felt pity and sorrow for the woman she longed to call sister. She thought about her brother Pollex and her sister, Clytemnestra. She wondered how different life had been if she had just stayed in the home of her mother's husband.

No doubt, she still would have had every available man vying for her hand in marriage, or least the opportunity to ravish her. She had been dubbed the most beautiful woman in the world, but Helen doubted it was her beauty that drew men to her. She knew that she was good looking, but she also did not pride herself on her good looks, so many other women did.

Helen knew that it was her inside beauty that drew men to her. She was the daughter of the great god Zeus, the only daughter of Zeus. There was some force in her, from Zeus no doubt, that drew men to her. She was a deadly flame and the men were the moths.

She heard the shouts and screams outside, the men were trying to return. She was tempted to run up to the top of the wall and watch, with the King and Queen, as she had done yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.

She had offered to give herself up to her husband and his brother, but she, as well as the King, knew it would be no good. Agamemnon had been waiting his entire reign as king for a reason to wage war on Troy and now he had it. This war was not about her, it was never about her, it was about the riches of Troy. She was merely a pawn in their plans.

She had run from her husband Menelaus as soon as Paris had welcomed her with open arms. She was merely a trophy to Menelaus he didn't appreciate her in the slightest, whereas Paris loved her and always welcomed her opinion.

It would have been better if I had never been born, Helen thought, bitterly. This was not the first time this thought had crossed her mine. She had, once, tried to kill herself, but Paris had saved her from jumping off the tall wall of Menelaus' home.

She loved Paris more than she had ever loved anyone, man or woman. Her loyalty to him was fierce and many times she had wished she had never come to Troy, just to save him pain. Now, she knew with a clear realization that it would not have mattered if she had come to Troy with Paris or not, Agamemnon and Menelaus would have waged war on Troy no matter what her decision. Helen shuddered at the thought of what might happen to Paris, and to herself if Menelaus and his brother won this war.

Cassandra had spoken, just before her father had her put away, that the only way to end this curse on Troy and to end the war would be if Paris died. How would that solve anything? Helen wondered. If Paris was dead, war would still wage on, until one side won and one side lost.

Helen looked down at her hands, her best feature, according to Paris, that and her eyes. She smiled at the memory of the first time she had seen him in the flesh, in Menelaus' hall. He had looked upon her so lovingly that she thought she would melt. For no man had ever looked at her with love in his heart. Every man who looked up on her looked at her with lust in his eyes, never love.

He had held her gaze so long that it felt as if they were bound by eternity. She had dreamt of Paris her entire life and to finally look upon him and know that he was real and his feelings of love were real, had made her feel complete. If she had been struck down in that moment by the gods of Mount Olympus she would have died with a feeling of completion and happiness.

Glancing back outside she could see the smoke was beginning to recede and heard the shouts of the Trojans retreating back into the safety of the city. Hearing cries of joy she knew that the men were successful in their return to Troy. She heard the cries of happiness from the mouths of children as they ran to their fathers.

A tear slipped down Helen's cheek at the thought of the child she had almost born Menelaus. It may have been Menelaus child, but she would have welcomed it with open arms. It would have been the only thing to bring her happiness in her despair. Menelaus had forced her to cast away the child before it was born, for he feared pregnancy would damage her beauty. Damage to her beauty would have lost both Menelaus and Agamemnon some important allies.

She used her hand to wipe the tear off her face, she would not cry for what she did not have. She had Paris and his love, and that was all that mattered to her now. She and Paris wished for children and tried many times, despite her being still legally the property of Menelaus. Despite their years of sharing a bed, Helen still had no child and she blamed this on Menelaus. She believed that in casting away her first child, she was left barren. The gods were punishing her.

Helen folded her hands neatly in her lap and sat, waiting for Paris to return. She knew he was still alive, she could feel it in her heart. She also knew that she would have to wait for him to come to her, for Paris and Hector would have to give a full-days report to the King and Queen of the battle.

She wondered how Menelaus fared, she cared for him not, but she still did not wish to see her husband dead. She did not love him, or even care for him, but their years together had forced to her a sense of concern for his well-being. She wished him well, so long as he left her and Paris alone.

She saw the fires light up outside her window. The women were cooking for their newly returned men. She hoped the Trojans had done well and from their cries she could sense they had indeed had victory, small or large it did not matter. It was a victory.

She felt a hand drop on her shoulder, but she did not start. She reached up and caressed Paris' fingers with her own. "Did you win?"

Paris caught her fingers with his own and playfully squeezed them, "No one every wins in war, darling."

Helen gave a faint smile, "No I suppose not. You still have not bathed."

"You haven't even looked at me yet how do you know?"

"I've grown familiar to the scent of blood and sweat," Helen told him, and turned to look at him. His hair hung in his face and he had a small cut on his other hand. She stood up and pressed her hand to his cheek, "Bathe my love and we talk later."

He caught her other hand, "Join me?"

She kissed his mouth lightly, "In a moment." Paris kissed her back and left for the baths. Helen turned back to the window and heard the shots of joy and the men downing beer in the face of victory. No matter what had started the war, her love for Paris or Agamemnon's ambition, it didn't matter the war was here. Child or no, she had Paris and was happy, even with hundreds of men dying everyday. She was happy.

THE END


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